There's a brand new human in the world and I get to claim her, a little bit, and that is something of an incredible feeling, a stupendously proud and wonderful thing. My niece, Julia Paz, is this tiny, precious, big lunged baby girl who was just born a few days ago while I held her mother's, my sister's, head as she pushed her out and into the world - small and wailing and needing and instantly lovable. I cried like a 33 year old baby when that happened, like a human who'd forgotten about where we all miraculously came from seeing where we miraculously came from.
My sister was so strong through her extended, so long, labor to bring this baby girl into the world. There was my little sister breathing through these contractions and dissolving at times into tears and frustration, other times puffing and gritting through, awaiting the end result which would be so much more than all this. It took so long, poor sister, 70 hours of breathing, contracting, waiting, checking, frustrating, contracting more, discomforting, waiting, the maybe birthday turning into another maybe birthday into another and final birthday. Three days later, and so much hard and sleepless work, there is this moment come when everyone who knows about dilation and effacement is ready, scrubbed and poised to catch, and we are pushing this little one out and into and there she is, coming into sight.
Magical, is what it was, to see the birth of a child - my sister giving birth to this life. In that birthing room I kept thinking how I was the big sister and so I'd be strong and there like I'd always been for her, but I had nothing for her on this occasion. She'd surpassed me in this, and I watched her in awe, figuring out as she went, getting through and so focused, pushing even when I was sure she had no strength left in her body. But she pushed, knowing it was almost done, her baby was almost here, and being able to support her a little in this major endeavor blew my mind. Her strength was incredible, bringing her daughter into the world.
I knew I'd cry. I cry when people give birth in sit-coms in ridiculous screaming scenarios. This wasn't even like that - there was no screaming. It was pure focus instead, I even encouraged her to make noise - let it out, yell, make noise! She was so tempered, like she is always, my serene sister.
You know, I loved my niece the instant she was born, possibly even before that, but reflecting back on the event I realize now my immediate love for her was an overflow of the love that I have for my sister. I have already loved my sister for all the years since she was born at home 31 years ago, when I'd made her a birthday cake and jumped on the bed where our mother was in labor, and I've always wanted to protect her and help her and advise her since, and then she has a baby and then there's this new extension of her. Another baby sister, perhaps, but one to love as an adult sister which is the very definition of aunt, I understand and define that now. The daughter of my sister - we won't play or grow up together, she and I, instead I get to care for her, protect her, make her life so good, teach her the things that her mom and I already figured out together many years ago. I get to take her into my arms, this little innocent, and tell her that I love her (because I know how to speak in sentences now), and that I'll always be here for her and you can count on me baby girl.
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